ADVANCE PRAISE FOR
MONTANA RHAPSODY
“Susanna Solomon’s Montana Rhapsody had me on the edge of my woven cane seat, paddling like hell to find out what happens next. A thoroughly enjoyable read with an appreciation for romance and wilderness.”
—Amanda Eichstaedt, Station Manager of KWMR, West Marin Community Radio
“In a story part African Queen and part Deliverance, Laura, an exotic dancer from LA, jumps out a second-floor window to escape would-be rapists in Montana and invites herself on a canoe trip where she finds personal growth, a new way of appreciating life, and unexpected love.”
—William Goodson, author of The Blue-Eyed Girl and It’s Your Body . . . Ask
“Phrases like ‘a fun, true page-turner’ and ‘engaging romp’ come to mind when I try to describe this delightful book. Susanna Solomon has done it again!”
—Ann Steiner, PhD, MFT, Certified Group Psychotherapist, psychotherapist, author, and professional speaker
“Montana Rhapsody starts off at a high pitch and never lets down! How can the climax last the entire book? When you are reading about zany, quirky characters, there’s no time for ho-hum. This novel zips right along, far surpassing the current of the turbid Missouri—in a holey canoe, no less. This nonstopaction novel is a real page-turner you won’t want to miss. Good luck keeping pace with the author and her main character!”
—Sue Potter, educator
“Susanna Solomon’s book is full of thrills and surprises. A read you can’t put down. I enjoyed every minute of this wild and wonderful story.”
—Joan Steidinger, PhD, author of Sisterhood in Sports: How Female Athletes Collaborate and Compete
“Susanna Solomon does a masterful job with characterization. From Laura, the pole dancer on the run, to Frank, the chainsmoking tax driver who purposefully hits every pothole, every character in Montana Rhapsody is an endearing addition to our literary world.”
—Susan Cleek, ELA (English Language Arts) mentor teacher at Hillard Comstock Middle School
“Adventure flows fast with the river in Montana Rhapsody, bringing you along in a memorable canoe trip with a vivid cast of characters. Let Susanna Solomon be your guide and delight in the ride.”
—Simona Carini, writer, photographer, and cook
“After escaping an overly zealous romantic boss and his sidekicks, Laura Fisher, a pole dancer, finds herself in the wilds of Montana with some wacky people on a canoe trip and finds love. The story is humorous and beautifully scripted.”
—Inga Silva, retired trauma nurse and San Jose State University adjunct professor
“You describe it and the river very nicely. And the land around it. You are in fine company. I love the book!”
—Henry Molumphy, librarian, former Officer of the United Nations, and bookseller
MONTANA
RHAPSODY
Copyright © 2017 by Susanna Solomon
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, digital scanning, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please address She Writes Press.
Published 2018
Printed in the United States of America
Print ISBN: 978-1-63152-361-8
E-ISBN: 978-1-63152-362-5
Library of Congress Control Number: 2017956894
For information, address:
She Writes Press
1563 Solano Ave #546
Berkeley, CA 94707
Book design by Stacey Aaronson
She Writes Press is a division of SparkPoint Studio, LLC.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
To my children Alissa and Chris.
May they always be drawn to the wilderness.
CHAPTER ONE
Saturday, 8:00 p.m.
Great Falls, Montana
LAURA
In the dark Laura couldn’t see a thing, not the people in the front row, nor the platform under her feet; only the feel of the warm pole in her hand told her where she was, in the middle of the stage of the Big Sky Club, in front of a packed house. The music came on, a low thumping beat and then the lights, blinding her. Laura flashed a smile, blonde hair streaming back from under her top hat, butterfly bra and strappy thong sparkling under the spotlights, six-inch heels wrapped around the pole.
The beat picked up and so did she, running her hands up and down the pole, then up and down her thighs in the stocking stroke. She could hear them, those men, over the music, with their grunts and groans while she spun, holding her thighs just so around the pole, and always, always working her hips low and easy, doing her best to stay in synch with the audience, to carry them to a crescendo with the beat. She loved pole dancing. Twirling around the pole felt like flying!
She stopped dancing just before a trickle of sweat slid down her cheek. Her face and chest glistened with perspiration. She just glowed. She swiveled her hips and gave the men in the front row a wink, and the house went dark again. A second later the lights came back up, and she scanned the outstretched hands and moved closer as customers tucked tens and twenties behind the narrow strip of cloth at her hips, bunches at a time, until her thong was brimming with cash.
The bills looked like feathers.
For a small joint the take was better than she’d expected. For the first set of the night it was great. She gathered her cash and ran into her boss backstage.
“You get any hotter, honey, you’ll give me a heart attack,” he said.
Harry, a weasel-looking guy with deep-set eyes and a sharp, protruding nose, was opinionated, demanding, and cheap. He wiped his forehead with a paper towel, grinned, and held out his hand for his share.
“Later, Harry. That’s our deal.” Laura beamed her milliondollar smile. A small-time operator in a small town, he’d agreed—in their contract—to get his share when the club went dark at 2:00 a.m.
As for her, this place was doable, not great, but good enough. Anything was better than Mitch and the Flying Horses Club and LA. Anything was better than that sleazeball who was promising marriage and trips to Hawaii, and at the same time banged all the other girls in the scullery while Laura was performing.
Harry, looking disappointed, disappeared backstage.
Marina, one of the other dancers, came down the spiral stairs and stood in the wings next to Laura, watching the next show. “Good night, eh?” She smoothed the feathers in her headdress and tested her five-inch heels.
“Good crowd for a Tuesday,” Laura murmured. She pasted Marina’s curls back onto her forehead. “You need more gel, sweetheart.”
“This act’s a little slow. But they always love the Bluebirds,” Marina twittered. “Thanks.”
Laura was silent a minute. Compared to LA, the take in Great Falls was pocket change—but with Mom in the retirement home, moving to Montana had been a great idea.
“I wish I could dance like you,” Marina cooed.
“You’ll get it,” Laura said.
“Takes a lot of strength,” Marina said. “I work out all the time but it doesn’t seem to matter. And that new move of yours, of course, someday, maybe I could.”
“Sit-ups, pull-ups, squats, crunches, weights. Use the facilities, here. Grab the pole with your arms, turn upside down, flip your legs right up over your head.” Laura had learned that move when s
he was sixteen, but she wasn’t going to tell Marina that. “Men love that one.” She took a second glance at Marina’s sad little face. “I can teach you if you like. Call me for a time and we’ll work it out.”
“I was trying last night,” Marina said. “How? Like this?” She bent down, extended one leg over her head, and pretended to grab the pole with her hands. “I swore I was going to knock the couch over when I fell on it.”
“Practice without heels at first, honey. Better than last week. Give me that call, okay? And in the meanwhile, keep that pole dry.”
Marina held up her bottle of alcohol and a rag. “My new best friend, like you,” she said and took off for the stage.
Laura heard the applause and ascended the spiral staircase toward the dressing rooms. Her new protégé seemed awkward on the pole, but she had such a young face, and so much joy in her come-hither looks, the guys wouldn’t care about much else.
It had been tough moving to Great Falls, packing and driving and unpacking, and she was still tired. Couldn’t seem to get ahead. Halfway up the stairs she felt a tap on her arm. Even after ten years of pole dancing and men trying to paw her, she still jumped a mile. It was Harry. Again?
“You’re as hot as a sidewalk in Arizona, honey,” he said, sweat beading his upper lip. “Wham, bam, thank you ma’am. Wow.” His dark brown eyes scanned her body. “Can I get you a drink? Vanilla Stoli, Stormy Weather, or mojito?”
“No thanks.” He asked every night and every night she said no. “My feet hurt. I need to rest them before my second set.”
“You don’t get it, sweetheart,” he frowned.
“Some other time.” Laura climbed the rest of the stairs and disappeared into her dressing room. She lit a few candles. After the klieg lights on stage, she loved the warmth of soft lights. As she rubbed her sore calves, moaned, and stretched her feet, she heard footsteps outside the dressing-room door. More girls heading downstairs, she figured.
Peering into the mirror and squinting, she pulled off one of her false eyelashes. A small radio played jazz tunes. Her legs were feeling better when she heard pounding on her door.
“In a minute,” she hollered.
“Darling, sweetheart, I can’t live without you.” Harry opened the door, came in, and closed it behind him.
Laura started to sweat.
He rested his short frame against the wall.
“Read the contract, Harry. We’ll settle later.” Wiping a smudge of mascara off her eyelid, she fixed her eyes on him.
“Honey, it’s not money I want.”
“I’ve heard that one before.”
“You may think that up here in Montana, we’re different from your guys in LA. But it’s not so.”
“Harry, please,” she said. “I’ve got to go back on in ten minutes.”
“That’s plenty of time. Come on, come give me a little sugar.” He reached for her arm.
“I said no.” She sidestepped him and flung the door open, pushed him through, and slammed and locked it. The hook and eye on the doorjamb was measly and fastened with a crooked screw. She scanned her dressing-room table for anything she could use as a weapon. Nothing but shit; cleansing cream, brushes, cologne, hair spray, eye shadow, mascara, false eyelash glue, and hairpins. She opened up a few hairpins, shoved her wad of cash in the bottom of the tissue box, and pulled out her nail scissors and set them to the side. Scrounged in her purse. Damn. She’d left her Luger at home.
Five minutes later she heard heavy footsteps just outside. More than one. The door burst open, shattering the jamb. Harry stood there, smiling, arms crossed against his chest, two stagehands flanking him. Mike had a soft face, just a young kid, but Bart looked like a walrus. Tough mustache, short, tufted hair, and a muscle shirt. A thug.
“Honey, you’re not supposed to say no to the boss,” Bart said.
“He’s a sensitive guy,” Mike added.
“Hey,” Laura answered. “Anticipation is better than the real thing, don’t you think? I love to make men crazy.” One she could handle, but all three? Mike, the kid, looked weaker than the others . . . but that was probably deceptive. She’d have to take the thug first.
She slipped off one impossibly tall stiletto and wrapped her other hand around some Hold It ’Til You Die hair spray. “Well, then, boys,” she said calmly. “If you’ll just give me some privacy, I’ll be ready to service all three of you.”
“Me first.” Mike stepped forward.
“Ignore him,” Bart said.
Laura kept her eye on Bart.
“The pleasure’s all mine, boys,” Harry said, pushing past the other two. “Hand your bra to one of the gentlemen. And Bart, smile and be polite. There’s a lady present.”
Bart stood to the side, grunted, and leaned forward. Mike leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. Harry pressed forward, coming to within six feet of Laura’s dressing-room table.
She lunged and drove the stiletto heel into Bart’s shoulder, drawing blood, and turned and squeezed the hair spray into Mike’s eyes. Mike staggered, bumped into chairs, knocked jars onto the floor. Bart grabbed at the shoe still stuck in his arm.
“Like I said, Laura, no is not an answer.” Harry pulled his belt free. “Forget about those guys. I’m ready, eager, and able.”
Laura dropped back into her chair and with one shoe on, drove her heel into Harry’s groin, missing his vitals by inches but doing some damage. She felt meat. Roaring with anger, he went for her leg, but she sideswiped him, jumped to her feet, grabbed a hairpin, and stabbed him in the ear.
Harry grabbed his bleeding ear. Outside the corner of her eye Mike blinked back tears and lunged for her. She grabbed a bottle of cologne, broke it on the counter, threw the contents in his eyes, and shoved past him toward the only window.
“Not so fast, sister,” Mike yelled and grabbed her arm. She held out the jagged glass, slashed him with a hard right, opened the window, and prayed for a way down.
Six feet below was a balcony and a fire escape. She wrenched Mike’s hand off her arm, climbed out the window, and broke her fall on a metal chair. The dark night loomed over her as she pulled the fire escape ladder free, ran down the steep metal stairs, and, dressed in her skimpy bra, a thong, and one shoe, descended to the sidewalk and ran.
CHAPTER TWO
Saturday, 8:30 p.m.
Great Falls
LAURA AND CAMPBELL
Campbell Carr was driving the wrong way down a one-way street in Great Falls, Montana, cursing his car’s navigation system, when he heard screaming and a woman, half-naked and wild-eyed, jumped out of a window, ran down a fire escape, and flung herself onto the trunk of his BMW as he drove by. Two men pounded down the stairs after her.
“Drop dead, you asshole!” the woman screamed as a big man ran behind the car and grabbed at her legs.
“Hey!” Campbell yelled. “Hey, both of you! Get off of my car!”
He punched the accelerator.
A red stiletto flew past Campbell’s head, hitting the rearview mirror hard. He flinched, narrowly avoiding a parked car at the corner, turned right, pulled into a driveway, and stopped.
“Not here! Don’t stop here. Go! Go! Go!” The girl crawled over the trunk and dropped into his leather passenger seat.
“What are you doing?” he asked. She was smeared with blood. “You hurt?”
“Me? No. But I will be if you don’t get a move on!”
“Who the hell are you and who the hell are those guys?” Campbell asked. Two men were gaining on them, pounding their way across the deserted, dark street.
“You want those assholes coming after you too?”
“What’s going on here?” Campbell asked, backing up. He was doing his best to stay calm, objective, remembering his mantra. But it kept eluding him. He jammed the car into drive and slammed his foot on the accelerator. They were in an industrial part of Great Falls full of vacant lots and locked warehouses. No place safe to drop her. He drove a mile or two and mashed his brakes when
he saw an open 7-Eleven. The two guys had disappeared.
“Okay, sister. Hop on out.”
“Sorry,” the girl answered quietly, buckling herself in. “We’re still too close.”
“So, whose blood is it then?”
“That’s theirs, not mine.” Suddenly she whipped around in her seat and started yelling again. “That’s Harry’s car. I’d recognize his goddamn red Ford Focus anywhere.”
In the rearview mirror Campbell looked back and saw a car gaining on them. “Hold on!” He slid into a hard U-turn, jammed his foot to the floor, and headed straight for the Ford.
“What, are you nuts? Got a death wish or something?”
“I know what I’m doing,” he replied. “Get out or be quiet. Which is it going to be?”
“I’m in.” Laura scrunched low in her seat.
Campbell fishtailed right by them, into a side street, made another sudden U-turn, and crept up toward the main road. He killed the engine on the dark side of the street where he could keep an eye out for the Ford. His hands were trembling and his chest ached. He took a quick look at the girl. Okay for the moment; at least she wasn’t screaming. As for him, his heart was pounding a thousand beats a minute. Not good. Doc Wilson would not be pleased. Neither would Francine. He’d headed into Great Falls for a new camp stove, not to fall into some scene from the movies. He wasn’t a race car driver. What the hell did he think he was doing? Playing cops and robbers? He would be late getting back. Francine, a teen, obnoxious and angry already, was going to be pissed.
“So, what’s your name and why are you out, at this hour, dressed like that?” he asked finally, once he got his breath back. “A fight? You got in a fight? Where I come from, women don’t fight like that.”
“And that is?” Laura asked.
“New York.”
“You don’t know shit from shinola, buddy, but you are kind.”
“So, what are you doing, then, costume party?”
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